


A Kiss From a Rose

by timehopper



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Years after the war, Lorenz is invited to return to Garreg Mach to give a series of lectures to the next generation of students. He had not expected to run into his old friend, Ignatz Victor, while there... and he certainly had not expected to relive old feelings he had long thought behind him.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	A Kiss From a Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurnion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurnion/gifts).



> This fic was written for my dear friend. <3 I didn't expect to love this ship as much as I do now when I started, and I'm so glad they introduced me to it and Three Houses as a whole. I'm so excited to share it!
> 
> I'm sorry about the title it was just too fun to pass up.

The letter had come suddenly and unexpectedly. A call for his assistance, an invitation to lecture and educate the next generation of students at Garreg Mach monastery. The chance of a lifetime, in more ways than one. As busy as he was with his work – leading the Leicester Alliance was no small task, after all – Lorenz knew it was an opportunity he could not refuse.

When Lorenz had finally, after a long, tiring journey, arrived at Garreg Mach, he had not been expecting to encounter his old classmates. An old part of him might have balked at the idea that he wasn’t the only one offered the unique chance to give a series of guest lectures at the monastery, but the new part of him – the part of him that had suffered through war and loss and had been humbled by a friend’s unwavering faith – was glad to see some familiar faces. 

One familiar face, in particular. 

He first spots Ignatz while on his way to a lecture. A nun, or perhaps a professor that Lorenz doesn’t recognize, gestures at a wall and draws out imaginary lines and dimensions, while next to her Ignatz nods, chin between thumb and forefinger as he deliberates something. 

Lorenz draws a shaking breath. Something he doesn’t want to name – something he had been certain had long been put behind him – rises to the fore, and he swallows. His eyes slip shut and he takes another, calmer breath. Certainly this is nothing but a dream? Ignatz could not possibly be here, at this moment, at the very same time Lorenz is visiting on business. 

He opens his eyes, but nothing has changed: Ignatz is still there, still oblivious to his presence. It is not a dream.

But then that begs the question: _why_ is he here? 

Lorenz forces himself to turn around and hurry along, not wishing to be late for the lesson he was meant to give, and certainly unwilling to disturb his old friend. Perhaps he would see him later, at dinner, or –

“Lorenz? Is that you?” 

He goes stock-still.

“It is!” 

Within a moment, Lorenz hears an all-too-familiar apology, and then Ignatz is there behind him and he’s turning and – 

By the goddess, time has been kind to him. 

It’s been years since the war. Garreg Mach has been repaired and restored, though it is still rugged and unrefined – a mere shadow of its former self. The opposite is true of Ignatz: though the war had briefly hardened his features, creasing his brow and deepening the worry lines he wore so readily as a student, the years of peace and prosperity have softened and relaxed him. He is almost baby-faced, and the small part of Lorenz that is not smitten is nothing but envious. 

“It’s been so long,” Ignatz says, oblivious to Lorenz’s inner turmoil. His smile is so bright, so wonderful, and Lorenz cannot help but return it. He extends his hand and Ignatz takes it in both of his own, so clearly overjoyed at their reunion he momentarily forgets his manners. 

“Oh – sorry,” he says, and he withdraws his hands. The sensation of their warm touch lingers on Lorenz’s skin. “I should be more respectful. You are the leader of the Leicester Alliance, after all–”

“Think nothing of it,” Lorenz says with what he hopes is exceptional grace. He smiles at Ignatz and places a hand on his chest. “Status or no, I can hardly deny my joy at seeing an old friend.” 

“Right.” Ignatz’s smile shifts from a shine to a glow: smaller, but hardly less breathtaking. “Still, I would do well to keep our respective statuses in mind.” 

“Nonsense,” Lorenz says. Years ago, he would have agreed with Ignatz; but now, after all these years and all they’ve been through, he finds he doesn’t care nearly so much about the class disparity between them. “Though I must say I am surprised to see you here. Have you also been asked to give guest lectures to the students?” 

“Oh, nothing like that,” Ignatz says. “Actually, I’ve been commissioned to paint for the monastery. A series of portraits.” 

Lorenz cannot keep the surprise from his face. “Really? Such prestigious work?”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Ignatz looks away, scratching his cheek self-consciously as a flush creeps across it. “W-well…” 

“My apologies. I did not mean to come across as…” As what? He waves his hand. “I simply meant to pay you a compliment. I have seen your work – have purchased a piece or two, in fact – and I think it is simply splendid that you are finally getting the recognition you deserve. It is a great honour.” 

The blush darkens and spreads further. Had he said something wrong? But Lorenz is quickly prevented from attempting to clear the air once more: Ignatz smiles at him, sheepishly this time, and says, “No greater honour than your praise, Lorenz. Do you really think that?” 

“Of course.” Lorenz manages, somehow, to keep the guffaw of shock out of his voice. How can it be that after all these years, Ignatz still doubts himself so much? “And I would gladly tell you so again, but I am afraid my services are needed elsewhere. You simply must tell me all about these portraits another time, however.” 

“I… I’d be happy to,” Ignatz says, eyes wide as if he can’t quite believe that someone actually wants to hear him talk about his work. “Perhaps at dinner?” 

Lorenz’s heart leaps in his throat. “Yes,” he says. “I will look forward to it.” 

* * *

Dinner is like a dream. Lorenz tells Ignatz of the struggles of his countship, and he happily listens as Ignatz tells him of the portraits of the saints he will be painting.

He tries (and fails) to suppress the emotions that well up inside him, but with every cheerful word that flows from Ignatz’s lips, Lorenz realizes that he had never moved past his feelings after all. 

* * *

It had taken Lorenz a long time to come to terms with his feelings, and even longer for him to be at peace with them. He had resolved to himself that it is not the feelings themselves that were improper, but rather taking action upon them. 

_Still_ , he thinks to himself, letting loose a sigh as he watches Ignatz replace a book on the library shelf. _It would be nice if I could hold his hand_. 

Because he will not act on his desires, Lorenz allows himself to think about them. Ignatz is still so short, even after all these years, and he struggles to reach the top shelf. Lorenz thinks about approaching him from behind and delicately reaching out to pluck the book from Ignatz’s dexterous fingers. And if their hands were to brush…

“Lorenz? What are you doing?” 

He hadn’t realized he had moved, but with the grace ingrained in him since childhood, Lorenz ignores the pounding of his heart and forces an easy smile. “My apologies, Ignatz,” he says. “But I simply couldn’t stand to watch you struggle any longer. Especially when you refuse to use the ladder.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ignatz insists with a smile of his own – notably not forced, Lorenz observes. “It’s in use right now, and I’d hate to bother the students. Besides, I thought I could reach it. Guess I still have some growing to do.” 

Lorenz chuckles. “You are nearly twenty-five.” 

“Then perhaps a spell?” 

Lorenz laughs again, louder this time. “If such a spell exists, I’d be glad to learn of it.” 

“Lorenz.” Ignatz’s tone drops, becomes serious. For a moment, Lorenz is worried he’s ruined the joke, but the tug of a grin at Ignatz’s lips is beautifully reassuring. “If you get any taller, your head will scrape the ceiling.” 

Lorenz looks up with a small ‘oh?’ as if he hadn’t noticed how close the ceiling was, and Ignatz laughs, quiet and modest and genuine. He sounds lovely. _Beautiful, even_ , Lorenz thinks as warmth spreads throughout his body. 

Ignatz sighs as his laughter ebbs away. He smiles up at Lorenz, eyes shining in the library’s candlelight, and for a moment Lorenz thinks about leaning down and kissing him.

But he doesn’t. He’s already acted foolishly enough. 

“Well then,” Lorenz says hastily. Something seems to crack, then, and Ignatz backs away a step, coughing into his fist and turning his head away to hide the embarrassed flush on his face. “It seems as if you no longer require my assistance. As you were, then.” 

“Yes, right.” Ignatz nods and turns back to the towering shelf, running a finger along the dusty old spines of books too quickly to truly be reading them. “I… I’ll see you later, Lorenz.” 

Lorenz says nothing more. He simply nods, unseen, and turns to leave the library. He allows himself one last glance at Ignatz over his shoulder as he passes through the doorway, but he does not meet his friend’s eye as he, too, turns his head to watch Lorenz leave. 

* * *

Ignatz asks him to tea three days later. “You’ve always had the best taste in tea,” he says when Lorenz asks what brought the invitation on. “Shall I pick the pot, and you the blend? Like old times?” 

“That sounds… lovely,” Lorenz says. And he smiles, genuinely, hoping his excitement does not colour his cheeks. “Shall we say noon?” 

Ignatz nods. “Noon.” 

* * *

Noon comes and goes, and still Lorenz sits waiting in the garden. He admires the roses, reaching out to rub their petals between his fingers. They’re a distraction, a small isle of calm for Lorenz to cling to among the storm of turbulent emotions roiling in his gut. Although he knows Ignatz is the type of man who would give notice if he suddenly could not make a prior arrangement, he can’t stop himself worrying that this was all one cruel joke. 

He is saved from his thoughts a moment later when he hears a familiar voice calling his name: “Lorenz!” 

He turns his head and sees Ignatz hurrying to him, tea set carried on a tray in his hands. The tray is a remarkably well-polished silver, and the teapot, cups, and saucers upon it a delicate white-and-pink painted porcelain. 

Lorenz hums approvingly as Ignatz sets the tray down and takes his seat across from his friend. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I… realized soon after I asked you to choose the tea that I wouldn’t be able to choose the set that would complement it best.” 

Lorenz raises a brow. “Perhaps next time we should agree upon the blend before we part ways.” He lifts the lid of the teapot and drops three small spoonfuls of leaves into it. “That said, you have somehow chosen perfectly all the same.” 

Ignatz smiles, a mischievous glint in his eye matching the smug quirk of his lip. “I had a feeling you would select a rose blend. And given the time and your previous habits, I assumed you would go with a black tea.” 

Lorenz blinks. He closes his mouth, which had fallen open, just a little bit, as Ignatz spoke. “You – you remembered? After all this time?” 

“Of course,” Ignatz says. “I was very fond of our tea-times.” 

Lorenz nods, still a touch dumbstruck. “I… valued our time together as well.” 

Ignatz’s smile is radiant. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

After that, it’s easy to slip back into their old routine. Ignatz properly catches him up on all that’s happened since the war: his travels, his art, the people he’s seen and the things he’s missed from their school days. They pour the tea and sip it; Ignatz compliments Lorenz’s choice in tea, Lorenz brushes it off as if Ignatz’s opinion does not mean the world to him, and Lorenz catches Ignatz up on the politics of the Alliance and what House Gloucester in particular has been involved in.

“That’s quite the burden for you to bear alone,” Ignatz says as he refills both their teacups. “Wouldn’t it be much easier on you with someone by your side?” 

Lorenz leans back a touch, shoulders tensing. Steam rises from his cup and dissipates into the air. “Whatever do you mean?” 

There’s a slightly nervous tinge to Ignatz’s laughter. “O-oh. My apologies; I didn’t mean anything by it. Just… I suppose I’m surprised you haven’t married, is all.” 

“I see.” Lorenz lifts his teacup and tilts his head to the side, gracefully attempting to be nonchalant despite the way the words make his heart flutter and his stomach churn. “I suppose I just never found the right…” 

He pauses. Takes a sip of tea to buy himself some time. What should he say? He knows, logically, he should say _woman_ , but it is not a woman his heart longs for. It is not the delicate touch of a woman he dreams of, but the careful hands of an artist tracing his form both on paper and beneath the sheets. 

“...Person.” He sets the tea down again, eyes remaining fixed on it. He thinks of all the opportunities he could have had to take a wife: all the arrangements his father had tried to set up, all the women at Garreg Mach he had become close to. He’s had more than ample opportunity to marry, and yet nobody had managed to catch his attention, or his heart, the same way the man across from him had. 

Ignatz, voice low, once again breaks Lorenz’s train of thought: “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Lorenz shakes his head. “It is nothing for you to apologize for,” he says. “Although it is… my duty… to marry well, I refuse to sacrifice my happiness for it. I would like to wake up every morning next to the person I love, if at all possible.” 

He looks up at Ignatz, wondering if his eyes are enough to convey the depth of everything he feels for the other man. But Ignatz is looking down at his tea, now, fingers wrapped around the cup. 

“That’s… surprisingly romantic of you,” he says fondly. Lorenz can hear the smile in his voice, and he wishes he could see it more clearly.

But instead of saying so, he says, “And what is that supposed to mean?” 

The affronted tone is enough to get Ignatz to look up. More importantly, it’s enough to make him laugh. Lorenz thinks of how far Ignatz has come since they were students here: years ago, if he’d used that tone, Ignatz would have cowered and stuttered out a hasty apology. He’s become a fine young man – perhaps too fine for his own good. 

“I’m sorry! It’s just – when we were in school, you were such a notorious skirt-chaser,” he says. “I see I’m not the only one who’s grown.” 

Despite the insult, Lorenz smiles. He playfully bats at Ignatz across the table. “I was hardly a skirt-chaser!” he protests. “I was searching for _love_. It was in the name of duty, yes, but even then I was more concerned with matters of the heart than of politics.” 

Ignatz’s eyebrows have disappeared behind his bangs, they’ve risen so high. His eyes are wide. It takes him a moment to compose himself, but when he does, he says, quietly, “I had no idea…” 

Lorenz takes another sip of his tea and shakes his head. “No, I suppose not. I doubt many of our colleagues did.” 

Silence stretches between them. Once again, Ignatz hides his face in his tea. And then, in a voice so small Lorenz is sure he’s imagining things, he says, “Did you… ever find it? Love?” 

Another pause. Lorenz sips his tea and slowly places the cup back on its saucer. “...Yes,” he says at last. “But I am afraid they will never love me in return.” 

Lorenz stands. Ignatz looks up. “Lorenz…” 

“I’m afraid I’ve taken quite enough of your time now.” He smiles sadly down at Ignatz. “And I have matters I must attend to elsewhere. Thank you for the company.” 

He hates the hurt that paints itself on Ignatz’s face. But his friend quickly pulls himself together and schools his expression, shifting it to a disappointed smile rather than crestfallen disappointment. “Of course. Anytime, Lorenz.” 

A smile and a nod. “I will be sure to hold you to that.” 

* * *

Lorenz stands before the Golden Deer’s most recent crop of students. They look up at him with what he would like to say is rapt attention, their quills quivering as they frantically try to scratch notes into their books. They’re a good bunch, he thinks, though he doubts they could hold a candle to his own class’s reputation. 

He pushes such thoughts from his mind as he paces before the professor’s desk. The lecture is going swimmingly: the students are engaged, for the most part; they appreciate his flourishes as he tells them of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and how his class fared, and they ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ in all the right places. Their regular professor has trained them well.

The only time he stutters is when he happens to look at the door, left ajar to allow the stuffy classroom a bit of fresh spring breeze. From the mouth of it, Ignatz watches, a fond smile on his face. He seems to realize rather quickly that he has been spotted, however, and raises his hand in a shy, hasty wave before running off. Lorenz does not have the chance to wave back, but he hopes Ignatz was able to see his returned smile. 

* * *

He doesn’t see Ignatz again until the next afternoon. Lorenz catches him by the greenhouses, lost in his own world as he sketches the scenery. He approaches slowly, not wishing to frighten the younger man, but his efforts are in vain: the moment he gets close, Ignatz jumps. 

“L-Lorenz!” he stutters. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that…” 

“My apologies,” Lorenz says, bowing to him out of instinct. “It was not my intention to startle you. I simply came by to say hello, and to see what you were working on. No doubt another masterpiece?” 

“O-o-oh, that.” Ignatz looks down at his sketchbook, hastily snapped shut in his surprise. “Right. Sorry. I was just admiring the way the sun was reflected off the greenhouse. It makes the flowers look even more beautiful, don’t you think?” 

Lorenz follows Ignatz’s gaze. The colours are, indeed, radiant, but their beauty in the setting sun pales in comparison to Ignatz’s own. Lorenz pushes the thoughts away and tucks them into the corner of his mind to revisit in memory later.

“Yes, I agree,” he says simply.

Ignatz fidgets, rubbing the dog-eared cover of his sketchbook between his thumb and forefinger. The gesture does not go unmissed by Lorenz, but rather than think about the cause of the motion, he wonders why Ignatz is using such a cheap, poor-quality sketchbook. His art is far too lovely for that, and he deserves much better besides. 

“Actually… I’ve been meaning to talk to you since yesterday,” Ignatz says slowly. He does not meet Lorenz’s eye as he speaks, instead watching the way the paper wears between his fingers as he continues to rub at it. “I wanted to apologize for distracting you. You were in the middle of your lecture; I shouldn’t have…”

“Oh, that?” Lorenz starts a moment, eyes wide as a hand rises to his chest. “Please, Ignatz, I beg you think nothing of it. It was quite a nice surprise to see a friendly face, and I daresay I was beginning to doze off as I spoke…” 

“Really?” Ignatz looks skeptical, if fond. “It didn’t seem that way. You were standing so straight, gesturing so widely. You looked as if you were having the time of your life up there.” 

“I – d-did I?” Again, Lorenz is taken aback. He can feel the tips of his ears warm, and soon that same sensation spreads to his cheeks. 

“Yes.” Ignatz nods emphatically. “In fact, I – ah.” He pauses a second, suddenly anxious. He looks away again and Lorenz notes the pink tinge to his face. 

“Is something the matter?” 

“No, I just… Lorenz, will you come with me?” Ignatz meets his gaze now, a determined shine glinting in his eyes. “This will only take a moment, but there’s something I’d like to show you. Just… not here.” 

Lorenz tilts his head to the side, curious, but he does not ask what has agitated Ignatz so. Instead, he trusts his friend to tell him in his own due time. “Of course. Please lead the way.” 

* * *

Ignatz leads Lorenz to a guest room, far away from Lorenz’s own. He notes that although guest accommodations are not segregated by status, as the students’ dorms still seem to be, this particular room is not as large or grand as his own. That may be, however, due to the clutter of the room: art supplies litter the desk, books and canvases rest scattered along the floor, and loose sheets of paper stick out from every corner. 

It strikes Lorenz belatedly that this must be Ignatz’s room. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Ignatz says. “I wasn’t expecting to have company. Not that I’m not glad you’re here, of course.” 

Lorenz pretends he doesn’t notice the flush at the tips of Ignatz’s ears as the artist moves about the room, clearing books and papers off the bed. 

“Please, come in,” he says at last, gesturing to the bed once there’s room to sit on it. Lorenz nods and brushes his hair over his shoulder as he moves, sitting upon the mattress with perfect poise. He tries very, very hard to ignore the implications of the invitation. 

Ignatz joins him a moment later, a different sketchbook in hand. There’s something familiar about it, but before Lorenz can comment on that fact, Ignatz opens it up and flips through. “I feel like I should apologize for this,” he says idly. His hands – no, not just his hands – his entire body is shaking, trembling with what might be nerves. It certainly isn’t a chill. “But seeing you up there, so happy, so… so _in your element_ , I couldn’t help but… well.” He doesn’t finish the sentence; instead, he lets his art speaks for him, thrusting it into Lorenz’s hands. 

Lorenz takes the sketchbook gingerly, as if afraid the paper will dissolve under his fingers if he grips it to too hard. He looks down at the page, and a sweeping wave of awe overcomes him.

“Ignatz,” he breathes, heart stopping in his chest. “Is this… me?” 

He does not dare to look away, drinking in every detail he can as his eyes rove over the page. He only barely notices Ignatz nod in his peripheral vision. “Yes,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Oh, Ignatz…” Lorenz is breathless as he speaks. “Why ever would I mind?” 

Beside him, Ignatz shifts on the bed. He’s still trembling, just the slightest bit, but the sigh of relief he breathes proves enough to Lorenz that it is, in fact, nothing more than simple nerves. “I – I don’t know,” he admits, the ghost of a hysterical laugh bubbling in his voice. “I drew you without your consent, and–” 

Lorenz sets the sketchbook down beside him delicately, careful not to smudge the charcoal or dirty the sheets. He would hate for something so beautiful as Ignatz’s work to be marred out of negligence. He smiles softly. “Ignatz.” 

“–and I knew you wouldn’t _hate_ it, but I wasn’t sure how it would come across, and I just–”

“Ignatz.” 

“I wanted to capture you looking like that, just once, before I had to go home and maybe not see you again for _years_ –”

And then Lorenz does something he vowed he would never do: he takes Ignatz by the hand, right in left, and pulls his old friend in to a kiss.

Ignatz goes completely still against him. Lorenz feels it and almost panics, opening his eyes to make sure he hasn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life. But Ignatz relaxes, slowly, and melts into him. His eyes slip shut and he squeezes Lorenz’s hand, a quick and gentle flex of the fingers. Lorenz can’t tell if Ignatz is trying to reassure him or making sure this is real.

They part. Warm breath tickles Lorenz’s lips, and he finds himself wanting more, more, more. But he stops himself, holds himself back (as always), as if any motion at all will shatter this moment. He knows, logically, that it will end eventually, but for now, he wants to hold on to this as long as he can. 

“Lorenz…” 

“My apologies,” Lorenz breathes. He doesn’t move except to incline his head. Ignatz follows the motion, and their foreheads touch. “I acted rashly.” 

“No, no,” Ignatz says. He’s close enough Lorenz can feel him smile without properly seeing it. “Don’t apologize. I… I’ve wanted that for a very long time.” 

A kaleidoscope of butterflies bursts open in Lorenz’s chest, filling him from head to toe. He almost laughs, giddily and hysterically, but he manages to scrape together just enough of his composure to keep himself from making any untoward outbursts. “H-have you?” 

He curses the way his voice cracks, how it lilts like a fawning schoolgirl’s, but Ignatz simply laughs, apparently giddy himself. “Of course I have. I’ve admired you for years, Lorenz.”

Lorenz doesn’t know what to say. A thousand thoughts scatter through his mind in a whirlwind, none settling long enough for him to make sense of the situation. So, instead of speaking, he simply allows himself to laugh at last – though it comes out sounding more like a sob. “Truly?” 

“Yes.” Ignatz squeezes his hand again. He looks down at his lap, which has the tragic effect of hiding that beautiful, bright, all-encompassing smile from Lorenz. “How could I not? You’ve always been so… so well put-together.” He pauses to think, and looks up again, gesturing to the discarded sketchbook. “And handsome–”

“Well, I cannot argue with you on that account…” 

Ignatz laughs. “And humble,” he jokes. “But more than that, you… you were always kind to me. You showed me that I didn’t have to follow a path others set out for me. That I could be what I wanted, and didn’t have to sacrifice anything. That I could be a knight who paints. Though I’m afraid the knight part hasn’t quite worked out…” 

Lorenz flicks his hair off his shoulder with his free hand, suddenly embarrassed. “You speak too kindly of me,” he says, then adds: “...Please do not stop.” 

Ignatz laughs and, in a move so bold he never would have even thought to do it a few years ago, swats Lorenz on the side of the head. “Did I mention I like your sense of humour, too?” 

“Funny, I seem to recall most of our classmates thinking me humourless.” He can’t help but deflect, unused to this particular sort of compliment. 

“Then I suppose I’m just lucky in that I’ve been able to see this side of you.”

Lorenz closes his eyes. “Not as lucky as I, it would seem.” 

“Hm?” 

“That you would have chosen me, of all people, despite our…” Lorenz trails off, letting the unsaid words hang between them in the air. His heart shrivels and sinks when he notices the smile fade from Ignatz’s lips, and he wants nothing more than to reach over and bring it back.

So he does. 

Lorenz allows himself his moment. He leans forward to caress Ignatz’s face with the back of his hand, smiling softly. “Ignatz.” 

Ignatz leans into the touch, sighing and reaching up to hold Lorenz’s hands. “I know. I’m sorry, Lorenz…”

“Do not apologize.” Lorenz’s voice is stern, leaving no room for argument. “I never once allowed myself to even _dream_ of a moment like this, Ignatz. The mere fact that we are sharing it now is more a blessing than any holy power could ever bestow.” 

The smile slowly creeps back onto Ignatz’s face. “It doesn’t have to be the last, you know.” 

“No,” Lorenz agrees, but the surprise in his voice makes his statement come out more like a question. Ignatz seemingly decides to take it that way.

“No. If you will allow me, I… I’d like to paint a portrait of you, Lorenz.” He looks down at his lap, shy. “Not now, of course; after I finish the portraits of the four saints. But after, if it’s convenient for you…” 

Convenient! What did convenience matter to Lorenz? If given the opportunity, he would happily move mountains if it meant he could have Ignatz close to him once more. “Think nothing of _convenience_ ,” he says, nose wrinkling on the final word. “You are more than welcome in Gloucester whenever you please. Merely send word and I will personally see to it that you have a room made up close to my own.” 

Ignatz’s eyes shine. “Really?” 

“Of course. Only the best for my…”

Lorenz pauses. The word _friend_ burns on his tongue. It is what they are, yes, but they are also so much more now. It doesn’t feel right to use such a simple word to describe their relationship anymore. 

Sensing his hesitance, Ignatz leans in and kisses him again, long and slow and soft. When he pulls away, he strokes Lorenz’s hair away from his face. “We don’t have to put a name to it now. There’s plenty of time for us to figure that out. For now, let’s just… enjoy the moment.” 

Lorenz nods his agreement, and no more words need to be said. They kiss again, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and spend the rest of the evening enjoying each other’s company and warmth. 

* * *

Too soon, Lorenz’s time at Garreg Mach comes to an end. Saying Goodbye to Ignatz is difficult, all the more so for the nights they’ve since spent together. But he leaves with a warm heart, comforted by the knowledge that this time, they will not be separated for nearly so long. 

“Whenever you finish here, write me,” Lorenz says, taking Ignatz’s hand in his own. Ignatz’s brushes the back of it with his thumb. 

“Of course,” he says. “And you’ll write to me too, won’t you?” 

“Every day, if I must.” Lorenz smiles and lifts Ignatz’s hand to his lips. “I will think of you often.” 

“And I you.” Ignatz smiles as he withdraws his hand, then reaches into an inner pocket of his overcoat. He procures a folded piece of paper and places it in Lorenz’s hand delicately. 

“For you. To remember me by.” 

Lorenz moves to open it, and Ignatz quickly stops him. “No! Ah, I mean, um… Please don’t open it here.” 

“Ignatz,” Lorenz begins slowly. A sly smile graces his lips. “This isn’t anything… _untoward,_ is it?” 

“N-no!” Ignatz waves his hands in front of himself frantically, ears and face an adorable shade of red. Lorenz is worried that his glasses will fall off with how violently he shakes his head. “Nothing like that. It’s just that I’m… you know… still a little bit…” 

“Shy?” Lorenz finishes for him. He takes Ignatz’s chin in his hand and smiles down at him lovingly. 

“Shy.” 

Lorenz tilts Ignatz’s face to his and kisses him softly. When he parts, he whispers, “Adorable.” 

“Lorenz…” 

The two of them pull away from each other, both smiling despite the grief at having to part ways. Ignatz is the first to break the silence. “Until next time?”

“Until next time.” 

* * *

When Lorenz returns home, he takes his evening tea alone and locks himself in his bedroom. His bags will be brought to his room later – for now, he wants nothing more than solitude. 

He sits at his desk and carefully, gingerly unfolds the sheet of paper Ignatz had given him. On it, sketched in coloured pencil, is a picture of Lorenz, sleeping peacefully in Ignatz’s bed. 

He smiles to himself and sets the paper on the desk. He will need to find an appropriate frame for it, but for now, he is simply too tired to worry. And though he knows he won’t sleep as soundly and comfortably as he did those nights they shared together, Lorenz feels perfectly at peace as he lays down for the night, knowing that Ignatz will be thinking of him, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> In this house we love and appreciate Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!!!
> 
> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, have a chat, or find out how to support me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r) or follow my writing blog [@intim3ate](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com), where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests.
> 
> And if you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1355219789560471554). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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